The sniveling, weak and simple-minded crypt things that make up the board of deans at Hoover rejected your application with an air of snotty disdain. These aged — and afraid! — old men couldn’t bear, for a moment, to think outside the box and consider your request to study Unnatural Mystic Phenomenon as completely valid.

It took almost a month of cajoling, phoning and begging, but you finally got the lot of them together in one room so that you could plead your case in person. You recall how difficult it was, years ago, to get together the required cast for your Ph.D review at Syracuse, and it only increases the fury and contempt you have for the liverspotted trots before you today.

You will get your approval. You will complete your studies here in the desert, flanked by continually imported human decadence, the comforting warmth of the sun and, of course, easy showgirls. Or else you will be the end of these miserable, cowardly, academic dinosaurs!

“Bitterly sardonic… Robb, as one reviewer so eloquently stated but that I paraphrase for you now, is one funny mother something or other.” — J. D. Berry